


A Season of Scars and Wounds in the Heart

by enigmaticblue



Series: Dean Winchester, Agent of SHIELD [9]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bittersweet, Friendship, Gen, Holidays, SHIELD Agent Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-24
Updated: 2018-12-24
Packaged: 2019-09-26 13:14:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17142413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enigmaticblue/pseuds/enigmaticblue
Summary: For two men on the run, Christmas is the last thing on their minds: until it isn’t.





	A Season of Scars and Wounds in the Heart

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from the song, “An Atheist Christmas Carol” by Vienna Teng

“ _It's the season of grace coming out of the void/Where a man is saved by a voice in the distance/It's the season of possible miracle cures/Where hope is currency and death is not the last unknown/Where time begins to fade/And age is welcome home…It's the season of scars and of wounds in the heart/Of feeling the full weight of our burdens/It's the season of bowing our heads in the wind/And knowing we are not alone in fear/Not alone in the dark_ ,” ~Vienna Teng, “An Atheist Christmas Carol”

 

They’re taking a breather in Dar es Salaam, looking for the next mission. Neither of them is a big spender, and with what they saved and put in offshore accounts, plus what Tony sends through convoluted channels, they’re not hurting for cash.

 

And maybe he and Bruce had very different—and sometimes opposing—missions in the past while traveling, but their philosophies are aligned these days: blend in, abide by local custom whenever possible, and do no harm.

 

Dean stretches and rolls out of bed, padding down the hallway, the tile cool under his feet. They managed to find a small guesthouse to rent, and for the first time in months they have hot running water and privacy. Since they’re paying a fraction of what they’d pay for a hotel, and they aren’t planning on staying long, it makes for a nice respite.

 

Especially since there’s a kitchen, and they can save money by going to the market and cooking for themselves.

 

The door to Bruce’s bedroom is still closed, so Dean puts the kettle on for the both of them—tea for Bruce and instant coffee for him.

 

They’re low on supplies, and Dean is hoping to convince Bruce to go to the market, where there is no shortage of street food vendors, including an older woman who sells _sambusas_ with coconut chutney. He can’t get enough of them, and he knows they’ll be leaving them behind in a few weeks.

 

Might as well enjoy the benefits of big city life while they can, and it’s been raining non-stop the last few days. Staring out at the sundrenched garden, Dean is itching to get outside and enjoy the nice weather.

 

Dean’s on his second cup of coffee by the time Bruce stumbles out, looking rumpled and even more weary than usual.

 

“Kettle’s on,” Dean says, but doesn’t comment on Bruce’s appearance or demeanor. He’s noticed that Bruce seems a little off-kilter, but he chalks it up to the downtime, or maybe a resurgence of Bruce’s nightmares.

 

Bruce will talk about it eventually, when he’s ready.

 

“Thanks,” Bruce murmurs.

 

“You up for a trip to the market?” Dean asks.

 

That teases a smile out of Bruce. “You just like those _sambusas_.”

 

“Guilty as charged,” Dean replies with a shrug. “Might as well enjoy them while we can.”

 

Bruce’s expression turns wry. “I suppose so.”

 

“Something on your mind?”

 

“I think that works very well as a philosophy of life,” Bruce replies.

 

Dean is no optimist, the years having ground into him a weary pragmatism. “I’m not really a glass-half-full guy, doc,” he corrects, because he’s getting the sense that there’s more going on than just a few sleepless nights. “But that doesn’t mean I can’t find things to enjoy.”

 

That hasn’t always been the case, though. There have been times when Dean has been certain he’d never feel happiness again. He wonders if Bruce is feeling the same way right now.

 

Bruce nods. “Let me just finish my tea.”

 

Both of them have been trying to pick up as much Swahili as they can. There’s a great deal of need in Tanzania, and a lot of NGOs that might be able to use their services. They avoided the Democratic Republic of the Congo, because they thought it would be too easy to get triggered.

 

The last two months in Uganda were hard, but good, helping a local organization distribute food and vaccines in some of the poorest areas. If the funding hadn’t run out, maybe they would have stayed longer, but then again, maybe not. He and Bruce both know that moving frequently is the best way not to be found.

 

So, here they are in Dar es Salaam, acting like tourists for a couple of weeks before looking for another mission, this time under aliases they haven’t used yet.

 

The nearby market is bustling this morning, the sun bright and hot. Vendors call out in a mixture of languages, advertising their wares and haggling with shoppers. Women in bright colors argue fiercely for lower prices, and children dart through the crowds to exchange a few coins for breakfast.

 

Dar es Salaam is a port town, and ethnically diverse, and Dean and Bruce aren’t the only white people at the market, which provides additional cover.

 

Dean pays for their _sambusas_ , and he notices that Bruce seems to be enjoying them just as much as he is.

 

They barter for vegetables and meat and fruit, enjoying the respite from the rain that’s been a hallmark of the last couple of months.

 

As they walk back to the guesthouse, Dean frowns when he sees one vendor hawking anemic-looking pine trees.

 

Bruce’s frown is deeper when he sees them, his troubled expression hinting at what’s been bothering him, the thing that he’s not saying.

 

“Why are they selling pine trees?” Dean asks.

 

Bruce shoots him a startled look, and then shrugs. “I guess there are probably enough people here who celebrate Christmas to warrant it, especially with the number of Westerners in the city.”

 

Dean does the mental math and realizes that Christmas is only a few days away. Here, where the weather is tropical year-round, and there aren’t the Christmas lights, the music, the evergreen garlands and other ubiquitous signs of the season, he hasn’t given it much thought.

 

And Dean thinks he knows why Bruce has been so off-kilter the last couple of weeks.

 

He doesn’t bring it up right then, though. Instead, once they’ve put the food away, Dean suggests exploring the city, thinking it might do Bruce some good to get out and about. They’ve been cooped up the last few days, which probably gave Bruce a little too much time to think.

 

Dean has been there before.

 

They walk along Oysterbay Beach, and stop for a lunch of _mishkaki_ , tearing the meat off the stick with their teeth, the char providing a delightful smokiness.

 

Bruce doesn’t say much, and Dean keeps his own peace, thinking about Christmas last year, which had been spent with Natasha. Looking back, there had been a lot of tension, but they’d ignored it for the most part.

 

He misses Natasha, of course, but he’s also had a lot of time to think about how everything went down, and what Natasha’s role in the events had been. In retrospect, he can see her fingerprints on his breach with Steve, and Steve’s unwillingness to be honest with Tony. He knows that she had probably done more than he realizes in order to get him out of town.

 

It’s one of the reasons he hasn’t left much in the way of breadcrumbs for her to find.

 

“I heard from Tony,” Bruce says abruptly.

 

Dean nods. “I suspected as much. Did he use one of the burners?”

 

“He did,” Bruce says, his voice tight.

 

“Did you reply?”

 

“No,” Bruce says shortly. “He wanted to fly to meet us, and I didn’t want to give away our location.”

 

Dean knows that Tony could probably find them if he really put his mind to it, but he’s apparently giving Bruce his space. “Do you want to talk about it?”

 

Bruce shakes his head. “I could have done without the reminder that it’s Christmas.”

 

Dean thinks about his own experience with the holidays, which is uneven at best. He remembers the last Christmas when his mom was still alive, the Christmases spent with Sam in a variety of motel rooms or the back of the Impala, the holidays at Sonny’s that had been pretty decent, holidays when he’d tagged along with one of his teammates, and those spent in places where Ramadan and Eid were the predominant holy days and Christmas hadn’t warranted a mention.

 

He thinks he could have done without the reminder, too, so he understands where Bruce is coming from.

 

“Have you heard from Natasha?” Bruce asks.

 

Dean shakes his head. “No, and I won’t until she turns up on our doorstep, most likely. Besides, I’m pretty sure she didn’t do me any favors with that mess with Steve.”

 

“Natasha likes to manipulate,” Bruce comments. “Usually for reasons that she thinks are good.”

 

“I’m sure,” Dean replies dryly. “I know she wanted us out and away from Ross, and I happen to agree with her. But I wish I’d been able to part with Steve on good terms.”

 

Bruce gives him a look. “I thought you were still pissed off at him.”

 

“I am,” Dean replies. “But I just don’t know how much of what Steve did was because he has a giant stick up his ass, and how much was Natasha’s doing.”

 

“So, you’re pissed off at her, too?”

 

“Let’s just say that I’ll be happy to see her when she does show up, but I’m not going to completely trust her for a while,” Dean admits. “Or, I’ll trust that she’ll be Natasha.”

 

Bruce is quiet for a moment. “Do you want to do something for Christmas?”

 

Dean thinks about it, and then says, “Nothing more than maybe getting a six-pack and making dinner. It might not be the celebration we’ve had in the past, but at least neither of us is alone.”

 

The suggestion brings relief to Bruce’s face. “That sounds good.”

 

And maybe it’s not the best Christmas Dean has ever had, but it’s certainly not the worst either.

**Author's Note:**

> I still have three other stories (at least) planned, with two started. Hopefully, there will be more in the new year. Until then, I hope this will tide you over. Thanks for reading, and I hope you have a great holiday season if you happen to be celebrating something.


End file.
